‘This is what Christ had in mind … a church without walls’

They just showed up. On foot. From all directions. As if risen right out of the same downtown streets that many of them live on.

About a dozen homeless men and women, joined by volunteers and other churchgoers, sat shoulder to shoulder in the cold last Sunday in front of the fountain at the north end of Woodruff Park. They wore hats and gloves and heavy coats. They toted backpacks and black plastic garbage bags. One guy chewed on a cheese sandwich.

They were ready for church.

“I appreciate all you huddled people,” began Carole Maddux, the Episcopal deacon leading the service. “Let us take a moment to be silent and claim this place. And call on God … to make his presence known.”

A MARTA bus rumbled by, drowning out her last few words. A car horn bleated. Dry leaves skittered past Maddux’s sneaker-clad feet.

Surrounded by downtown skyscrapers, she stood in front of a folding table topped with a silver cross, a chalice, a plastic bottle of grape juice to be served with communion —- “Some of our people don’t need to drink wine,” Maddux said.

The Church of the Common Ground was in session.

“We’re Episcopal, and we have a liturgy,” Maddux explained earlier. “It can cause us to try to control every little thing: The acolytes should stand here, the candles should be lit there.

“But here, you have to go with the spirit. I’ll be talking about the firmament, and a flock of pigeons will go by. Or someone will chime in with an opinion.”

A homeless ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, the Church of the Common Ground convenes in Woodruff Park every Sunday at 1 p.m. (January through February, it moves indoors to the ministry’s nearby rented storefront at 170 Trinity Ave. S.W.) It was started about two years ago by the Rev. Bob Book, a Lutheran minister for almost two decades, and his wife, Holly Book.

They’d retired to Florida, got bored and moved to Atlanta to try serving the spiritual needs of the homeless.

After years in traditional churches, the open-air, come-one-come-all ministry felt to them like a return to Christianity’s roots.

Their first communion service was held in the park in 2006, on Christmas Eve. A service will be held there again at 1 p.m. this Christmas Eve.

“This is what Christ had in mind —- a church without walls,” said Holly Book. “The [Episcopal] church has strayed from this. The bishop is recognizing the importance of us to be out there and with people who are poor.”

Debbie Shew, who oversees community ministries for Atlanta’s Episcopal Diocese, agreed. The diocese provides administrative support for the ministry, as well as a deacon. It’s funded through private donations.

“It’s important for this church to say we’ll come to you, instead of the typical model of you come to us,” she said. “There are practical needs to be addressed —- somebody needs a coat, a sandwich —- but that’s not its primary purpose. It’s about being with people and meeting their spiritual needs.”

Rick Hutchison, 58, lives in a shelter. He often attends the Sunday service and volunteers at the ministry’s indoor space on Trinity Avenue. A variety of services are offered there during the week, including a health clinic, addiction recovery meetings and a weekly movie (recent showing: “Prancer”).

But it’s not viewed by the homeless who come there as a traditional soup kitchen. Its most important service, Hutchison said, is spiritual.

“During the course of our journey in life, some of us end up going through certain issues and end up homeless,” he said. “Everybody’s innate desire is to find something that’s missing in their life. Sometimes it’s a spiritual void.

“You don’t have to go to a steeple church to find it,” he added. “You can go into the park. Jesus Christ was an advocate of breaking down traditions. It’s working, man.”

Bob Book, 59, was ordained an Episcopal priest in October at a ceremony at the park.

“People will say to me, ‘Someday, pastor, you’ll be blessed with a church,’ ” Book said. “And I say, ‘We already have one. It just doesn’t have walls. And I don’t want any walls. Once you erect walls, you start keeping people out, either by accident or intentionally. I want to be visible to everyone.

“Within the Christian community, none of us feels like the Earth is our home,” he added. “And part of the journey is finding our home in Christ, our eternal home. So in that way, all of us are homeless. Some of us just have shelters.”